


The Monkey's Tower

by Troofs_and_Goofs



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Generally Distressing, Happy Ending but Like, Minor Character Death, No Really This Is Not Gonna Be A Fun Time, Violence, brief descriptions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-29 22:10:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12640209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Troofs_and_Goofs/pseuds/Troofs_and_Goofs
Summary: There was a kind of comfort Angus learned to find in the strange jester's presence, warm and familiar in the constant tension that filled the rest of his time in the Tower.





	1. Moldovia

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't know if anyone's read Lilli Thal's Mimus, but I started and finished the John Brownjohn translation on Nov. 1st, immediately wanted to retell it with TAZ characters, and figured since it's NaNoWriMo why the fuck not?

_“And every day the sorceress would use her magic to draw the walls in closer around the poor prince, until there was barely any room in the tower to sit, and he was forced to stand in the pouring rain, and the pounding sleet, and the frigid snow.”_ Lucretia paused, taking in the rapt faces of the children at her feet.

“You can’t stop now,” Mookie said, leaning forward and tugging on the hem of Lucretia’s skirts. “What happens to the prince? He can’t just stay like that forever.”

Mavis frowned, shifting on her knees. “I don’t see how he hasn’t died of exposure or exhaustion by this point in the story, hasn’t he been stuck standing in this roofless tower for months?”

June’s hand found Angus’ shoulder, jostling him gently from his focused gaze on the leaves curled under his shoes. “Yeah, our prince can’t even stand for a whole day!”

Angus laughed, grabbing at the leaves and throwing them up at her. “I could if I had to, but then I wouldn’t hear the end of the story.”

In near unison, the four turned back to face Lucretia expectantly, and she gave them a thoughtful smile. The tree the five of them were nestled under cast shadows on the dirt below in the midmorning sun, and the surrounding thickets kept them shielded from the view of the castle courtyard as their tutor continued her story. _“Lonely and frightened, the prince would talk to the little birds that perched along the edges of the walls, unaware that they served as the eyes and ears of the wicked sorceress. Soon, when she had collected all the little secrets he told them, she sent a command to all the largest animals under her enchantments, lions and boars and huge eagles, and she ordered them to-”_

Startled at the sound of heavy footsteps behind them, the children leapt to their feet. “So this is where you’ve all been hiding out,” said a familiar voice. “Why do we even bother making practice targets for the exercise yard? It seems to me that they spend significantly more time in the yard than the lot of you, and with all the sitting around you do we have four free dummies to aim for.”

Killian stepped forward out of the bushes, towering over them. Her hair was pulled tightly back in one immaculate plait, drawing down past the bottom of her breastplate and resting just above her carefully polished greaves. She glowered down at each of them, inspecting them as a sergeant might examine her troops. “By all means, keep sitting here. It’s not like any of you have jobs to be getting to.” She fixed her gaze on Lucretia. “Your books are all organized and you don’t have any other lessons to be planning?”

Lucretia looked down at her feet, and Mookie snickered under his breath. She rounded on him. “And what about you? You think you get to succeed as prince’s bodyguard like this? What would you have done if a horde of ruthless Vinlanders had jumped on the five of you while Lucretia was telling her story? Say a magic word and turn them all to toads?”

“There ain’t any! They can’t get this close to Neverwinter Castle, everybody knows that!”

“Well look at Roswell,” she replied, gesturing to where the figure stood a little distance away, keeping watch with sword at the ready. “Do you see them slacking with the rest of you? No, they’re keeping watch as well as a prince’s bodyguard can be expected to, and they should be proud of themself.”

Roswell gave them a small wave, and Angus waved back, letting his eyes wander to the corner of Lucretia’s book as Killian chided June and Mavis in turn. He tried to make out the words as best he could, although they were upside down and faintly blurred. He made a note to himself to let Lucas know he’d be needing a new pair of glasses soon. Killian turned to walk away, bringing his attention back to her. “Excuse me,” he grinned slyly, “but you’ve forgotten to reprimand me, Miss Killian.”

She snorted, reaching a large hand down to ruffle his hair. “Haven’t forgotten, I just don’t think it’s the smartest move to sass the next in line. For the rest of you though...” She straightened up, and although her eyebrows knitted together into a glower the smile on her face remained. “If I find out from Carey that you’ve been skipping training again, I’ll scoop you up and have the cook boil you into pudding!”

Cackling with delight, Mookie tugged on his older sister’s arm and started running back towards the courtyard and away from Killian with June fast behind them. Angus laughed, brushing the dirt from his breeches before taking Lucretia’s hand and letting her lead him back as well. She leaned down and softly whispered to him, “Don’t worry, the prince makes it out alright in the end.” He gave her a grateful smile.

“I don’t know why you keep encouraging them, Creesh,” Killian said. “We’re supposed to be readying them for knighthood, not skipping training to teach them bedtime stories.”

Angus’ eyes darted between them as Lucretia quirked an eyebrow at Killian in response, trying to keep from drawing attention to himself in the hopes of listening in. “I’ve seen you helping them sneak away from my lessons just as often.” She paused, giving Killian a concerned look. “Is something the matter, Killian? You seem a little out of sorts.”

“There’s been news,” Killian replied, “From the front lines, about-” She paused, glancing down at Angus before lowering her voice slightly. “It’s about the you-know-what.”

“It’s about what?” Angus let go of Lucretia’s hand, moving close enough to Killian to grip at the thick fur of her cloak. “Have the Vinlanders really surrendered? Or it’s more likely bad news, since you seem upset. Is Davenport alright?”

The both of them gave each other a look before Lucretia hooked her hands under Angus’ arms and lifted him up. “I’m sure he is, Angus, but I think right now it’s important for us to focus on the war, and for you to focus on doing what you can to keep things running smoothly here at home.”  
Angus frowned as he was carried away from Killian, giving her a small wave before turning to Lucretia. “You know, if you don’t tell me what’s happening I’ll just assume it was something bad, and then I’ll be more worried about it than if you just told me in the first place. And besides, you always say it’s my duty as a prince to keep myself well informed of all the goings on in my country, whether political or edaphological.”

She sighed, stopping and adjusting her grip on him. “Will you agree to keep from telling your friends for a little while if I tell you? I don’t want them to get their expectations raised.” He nodded eagerly and she sat the both of them down on the edge of the courtyard. “Alright. _There were once two kingdoms, Moldovia and Vinland-”_

“I know that already, Lucretia, but what about the news Killian mentioned?”

“Don’t interrupt if you want to hear the rest of it,” she chided. _“Between the two kingdoms were countless miles of battlefield, and countless years of war.”_

“It’s only been fourteen years, Mavis was born the week before!” Pausing again, she gave him a wry smile, and he blushed. “Sorry, please keep going.”

_“The two leaders of Vinland, desperate for the silver mines that kept Moldovia prosperous, fought as mercilessly as Moldovia’s King Davenport did to keep his people safe. The fighting on both sides would dip and lull for months at a time, while both sides licked their wounds and planned for the next rise in action. There were times too, when they fought tirelessly and the streets ran red with the blood of soldiers and citizens of both sides alike. The war seemed tireless, until one spring - when Moldovia’s own prince came to be ten years old - Vinland sued for peace, seemingly from nowhere. Suspicious, King Davenport refused them until they asked again. Eventually he agreed to converse peacefully with their King Edward in a neutral location between the two, and so King Davenport rode out from Neverwinter Castle to meet, if all went well, the end to this cruel war…”_

“...and word reached this morning that he made it and they might even have the treaty ready soon!” Angus announced to his friends who were all gathered in the little quarters June had been given when she first came to the castle. The other three, perched together on the edge of June’s bed, gave him excited looks.

“I wonder what it’s like in Vinland!” Mavis said. “Do you think you’ll have to go with His Majesty if they really do sign the treaty?”

“I bet it’s full of monsters and robbers!” Mookie said excitedly, kicking his feet as he bumped against June’s shoulder.

“Well I bet that King Edward has a giant greasy moustache and no hair and sweaty hands and you and His Majesty will have to shake them and you’ll get warts,” June helpfully added.

Angus laughed. “I don’t think you can get warts from sweaty hands.” He sat on the lid of June’s chest, crossing his legs. “And you know you don’t have to call Davenport ‘His Majesty’ all the time, right?”

“Maybe you don’t,” Mavis replied, “but being invited to learn how to be a knight in his home and being adopted by him are completely different.”

Angus watched as his friend’s room descended into chaos, laughing along idly as his thoughts turned back to the war. Why was Vinland so determined to sue for peace when neither side had any distinct advantage? What could they possibly gain from surrender, and, more importantly, what did Moldovia stand to lose? He frowned at the floor, lost in trying to solve the puzzle laid out in his head. He was jolted out of his thoughts as a goose feather pillow knocked him sideways from his perch on top of the trunk. Gasping, he joined in, the war nearly forgotten as the hours passed by and they moved from their impromptu pillow fight to a seated circle on June’s floor. With a resigned sigh, they went over their schoolwork for the next day. Mookie’s paper lay on the floor between them, Angus’ glasses laid over it as they took a break to talk about the other children preparing for knighthood at the castle. By the time they were yawning out their goodbyes and Angus was being led down the hallway to his own chambers, his head was dizzy with names of kings and dates of long ended battles and censuses detailing every conceivable aspect of Moldovia’s monthly spending. The moment his head hit the pillow, however, he was struck with the thought that somewhere, miles away, Davenport was staring up at the canopy of his bed and thinking of Angus too. He wriggled restlessly under his thick blankets, and despite the racing of his mind and the sounds of the castle continuing to run below him, he eventually drifted off to sleep.


	2. Audience Day

Morning found Angus blearily looking up to the rattling of his chamber doors, wiping at his eyes and yawning. “Excuse me, your Highness,” a voice called out, “but there are already petitioners lining up at the gates.”

“Pardon?” He mumbled. The door swung open to reveal a harried looking Lucas. 

“Have you forgotten what day it is, your Highness?”

Audience day. Angus let out a groan, swinging his feet down onto the cold stone floor. “Why didn’t Leon wake me up?” He was answered almost immediately by a loud snore coming through the door of his steward’s small room. He rushed to the large, ornate dresser standing in one corner and dressed as quickly as possible with Lucas’ help. He hurried down the long steps and hallways and into the already crowded throne room. He sighed gratefully. Although he had to pick his way through the mass of lords, ladies, and each of their respective groups of guards and servants, none of the petitioners had arrived to see the young prince belatedly clamber up onto the throne.

“A prince’s best quality is his punctuality,” Lucretia murmured from where she stood beside him. His face flushed with embarrassment, but from the corner of his eye he could see her warm smile putting him at ease. As he opened his mouth to wish her a good morning, the huge double doors at the end of the room swung open and he settled in for the beginning of audience day.

When he’d first been invited to sit and hear the worries of the people alongside Davenport, Angus had been delighted. He’d felt as if he were coming into his own as a prince, and eagerly sat and listened. However, he soon learned that while it was an important task, it was also a dreadfully boring one, doubly so when the King’s journey to Vinland had meant Angus was solely responsible for providing the royal audience the petitioners sought. In an attempt to keep himself from falling asleep or slouching, he’d quickly invented a game for himself, which he silently started as the line before his throne began to form.

 _He’s wearing a leather cap,_ Angus thought. _He’s here over a dispute with his neighbour and he’s going to start with ‘Good morning, your Highness.”_

“Good morning your Highness,” the man in front of him began, and Angus silently awarded himself one point. “I am here to discuss a matter which is surely trivial to you, but is of great importance to me. You see, my neighbour has moved the stones between our two huts that his garden might be bigger…”

Angus watched quietly as Lucretia helped the man, eyeing the woman after him. _White lace bonnet. She’s here to ask us to lend her money while her husband’s crops are failing, and she’s going to start with I humbly-”_

“I humbly ask your Highness, and your Highness’ court, for a small loan. My sister’s husband has recently passed, and between the two of us we lack the funds to meet. If I could ask for only a few gold coins, I would be able to visit her, and make sure she is alright.”

 _Dammit._ He awarded himself half a point as Lucretia consulted with the treasurer, ready to move onto the next petitioner when the crowd suddenly parted. Three men, one of whom he recognized as Captain Bane, strode inside. Their cloaks were still covered in the dirt and smell of the road, and they didn’t so much as pause to shake them out before addressing Angus directly.

“We bring word from Vinland,” Bane said. “The kings have both signed the treaty. Peace is imminent, and King Davenport requests that his ward be present for the celebration in King Edward’s castle!”

Angus barely had time to let out a delighted laugh before Lucretia’s arms were around him, her shoulder warm against the side of his face, his smile wide before they both remembered where they were and regained their composure. He turned back to Captain Bane, nearly at the edge of the large throne with eagerness. “How soon can we set out? Are the kings to return here for a celebratory feast as well? Is his Majesty well?”

Killian stepped forward, eyeing the three messengers. “I’m sure they’re tired, Angus. It won’t hurt to take the night to recuperate. And besides, it’ll give me time to get my best twenty men together to escort you there.”  
“Actually, I think a smaller group would be safer.” Bane stepped forward as well. “There are still several areas where word about the peace has yet to reach, and it would be in our best interest to keep from drawing unnecessary attention to ourselves.”

“Fine then. Would five be a small enough number for you?”

Bane looked back to the other two messengers before nodding. “We should be able to travel at first dawn tomorrow, assuming the young prince will be ready?”

Angus nodded. “I will. How long is the journey?”

“Twelve days’ travel.”

“I mean how long did it take you to arrive from Vinland?”

Bane raised a challenging eyebrow. “Eight days, your Highness, but that includes riding long into the day.”

Nodding, Angus squared his shoulders as best he could. “Then I intend to make the journey in eight days as well. I’m sure his Majesty is expecting me.” Killian and Captain Bane nodded, making the arrangements between them as Angus turned to Lucretia. “Do you think Mookie will ask to come with me?” he whispered.

She smiled. “Absolutely, but I’m not sure you’ll get the chance to tell him for at least a few hours, unless you’re planning on turning the rest of the petitioners away?”

This was a test, and he absolutely knew it. The correct answer was that a prince must have time for his people, even when he would much rather be sitting in the gardens with his friends and enjoying the last time he’d see them for at least two weeks. This of course, did nothing to assuage how sorely tempting it was to end audience day then and there, make some claim about needing to prepare for the coming trip, and go say a proper goodbye to the three people who’d become almost like siblings to him in the years they’d studied and trained alongside each other. His lips curled into a frown and he shifted on the throne before answering her. “Of course not, it’s important that their needs are heard, and it’s my responsibility to hear them.” Lucretia gave him a proud look, and, with renewed energy, he turned to face the man stepping forward.

By the evening, the remaining petitioners he didn’t have time to hear had been given small packages of sweetbread bearing the wolf of Moldovia in delicate cinnamon along the top. It was the head cook’s personal recipe, and Angus honestly suspected that there were people who came for her free treat more than for the audience with him. As the gates closed behind them and Angus was led away by Roswell, he spotted Killian and Lucretia talking in the corner, and based on their expressions it was about something serious. He caught Roswell’s attention, giving them the same shy smile that he’d used to manipulate his way in and out of almost every part of the castle from the day he could walk. 

“Roswell, I think I left a book in the library, by Lucretia’s desk, and I’d very much like to show it to the king when we arrive in Vinland. Could you please help me find it?” Roswell nodded silently, and the moment they turned to move down the corridor to the library, he stepped back into the throne room and stood behind a large pillar to listen in on the two women.

“Do you have any reason to mistrust him?” he heard Lucretia say. “Or is this just a hunch?”

“I can’t prove anything, but something’s not right. Why would his Majesty send Bane to get Angus, why not one of his more trusted knights? Why not have Bane stay here and send one of us back in his place?” 

“It’s entirely possible that he’s being cautious, keeping the people whose opinions he values as close as possible while they establish this peace.”

“This peace,” Killian scoffed. “I don’t trust this, Lucretia. I can’t explain why, but I don’t.”

“It’s the stress of the war.” Lucretia set a hand on Killian’s shoulder, smiling up at her. “It’s going to be alright. Go tell Carey the good news, gather the five knights you trust to take care of Angus the most, and I’ll make sure he has plenty of reading material to last him until they’re both back.” 

Killian smiled back, rolling her eyes fondly. “Enough reading material for Angus means you’re packing the whole library. What are the rest of us supposed to read for three weeks?”

“I’m sure you can reread the same military history book you’ve been borrowing for a year,” Lucretia replied. The conversation shifted; Angus moved away from them, keeping quiet until he was far enough to start running towards the wing that housed his friends. The four of them gathered in Mavis and Mookie’s room, and within minutes the beds had been stripped of their blankets and pillows to make a large pile in the centre of the room. He wrapped one blanket around his shoulders, shivering from the night air as he told the three excited faces in front of him about everything he’d heard. They hugged him tightly, gleefully reacting in all the right places until he finished.  
“Do you think Captain Bane’s really that untrustworthy?” Mavis asked, one arm around Mookie and the other hand in Angus’ hair. “Killian seems really worried about you.”

June shook her head. “Killian’s always worried. If she had her way, we’d never leave the castle and we’d be training until we could beat Carey in a duel bare handed. I’m more worried about how you’ll survive in Vinland, I heard they eat pigs’ eyeballs and raw meat!”

Mookie laughed. “That’s gross! And you’re making that up!”

“I am not!” She poked his stomach, dodging out of the way as he reflexively kicked. They settled back down after a few minutes of play fighting, and everyone moved a little closer together.

“We really are going to miss you,” Mavis whispered. “You have to promise you’ll write every day, and you can’t stay there too long, alright?”

Angus nodded against her shoulder. “I promise. I’ll make sure I’m back before Mookie’s birthday.”  
Stepping away from his friends felt like pulling back the warm covers on a cold morning, but Angus couldn’t stay for much longer. He stood, waving to each of them before stepping out into the hall. The old stone walls curved in strange ways, the lamplight casting unfamiliar shadows in the near-darkness. Angus walked quietly through the castle, ducking around corners as guards passed by, until he reached the kitchens. He peeked his head in to see which of the cooks were still awake and quietly crept in to greet the small woman peeling potatoes in the corner.  
“Paloma?” he whispered.

Paloma gave a start, turning to face him with a kind smile. “Angus, you are awake very late tonight. Are you going to be ready to leave in the morning?”

“I wanted to say goodbye.” Angus grabbed a small stool in the corner, feeling the well-worn grooves in the sides as he carried it over to Paloma and sat down. “I don’t know when I’ll be back, or even what’s going to happen when I get to Vinland, and Killian’s worried but Lucretia isn’t, and-”

She raised a finger to her lips, and the young prince fell silent. “I think you are a smart enough boy to know when you should be worrying and when it is nothing...but if it will help you to sleep, there is something I can do for you.”

Leaning in, he whispered, “Magic?” and she gave him an enigmatic look. She set aside the potato and dull knife she had been holding and took his little hands in her own wrinkled ones. Angus shifted on the little stool, excited to see what was about to happen. Paloma let other people know what she Saw so rarely that Angus had never been part of it before, but he’d overheard the head cook talking to Carey about it and he knew what everyone in the castle did. Paloma was never wrong about what she Saw.

“I see an elf, curled on the ground below the king. I see a beautiful feast with hundreds of dishes laid out before the court in a grand hall. I see you, Angus, sat beside the handsome king.” She opened her eyes. “This is all I can see, does it help you?”

He nodded, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Thank you Paloma. I’m going to miss you while I’m gone.”

“You are going to miss my scones, I think you mean,” she said, but she ran a hand through his hair anyway.

He stayed there for a few minutes, until the head cook came by. “If there’s time for hugging princes there’s time for peeling potatoes,” she said pointedly, but there was no malice behind it. When Angus eventually pulled away the young cook pressed a kiss to the top of his head and a loaf of sweetbread into his hand.

“Thank you ma’am,” he said, and she waved a hand flippantly.

“You’re basically my boss, Kidlet, you don’t have to thank me for diddly. You do have to get outta my kitchen though, unless you wanna lend a hand with the dishes. You’re distracting my best assistant.”  
Angus gave Paloma one more hug before heading to the door. By the time he made it to the Royal Wing the guards were changing over for the early morning shift, and among them was Carey. She gave him a look as he snuck to his door, but let him through without comment.

Inside, Leon was sat beside the fire, the steward’s eyes closed and his chin to his chest. He startled to attention as Angus approached.

“Were you asleep?” Angus asked quietly. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

“It’s no trouble, your Highness,” he yawned, “I’m more than happy to nap by the fire for a few hours, but now that you’re here I can move to someplace a little easier on my back. Besides, I’m about to have several weeks of time off.”

Angus frowned, holding out his arms as Leon helped him out of his clothes and into his pyjamas. “You’re not coming with me?”

“No. Just like it’s a prince’s duty to go make peace and break bread, it’s my duty to keep your room warm and your clothes pressed for when you come home.” He pulled the bedcovers back, letting Angus climb in before tucking them around him and blowing out the candle on the bedside table. “Now, get some sleep. Who knows what the morning will bring.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a little behind but at least I've gotten this chapter finished


	3. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long with this chapter, got that hot combo of getting hungover and sick at the same time, so as a reward for y'alls patience im gonna work my dick off and put two chaps up today

The small party designated to escort Angus across the border left in the light of dawn with very little fanfare. There were hugs from the small collection of people to whom Angus hadn’t said goodbye the night before, and promises to write and take care of himself, and small packages of little treats pressed into smaller hands, and then they were off. 

Angus rode just after Bane, who seemed courteous if short on conversation. Eventually growing tired of wrangling one word sentences out of the captain, Angus decided to focus on the passing scenery instead. The crisp air of fall wrapped around Moldovia beautifully, and he smiled at the way the sun shone through the almost-barren trees. They passed by a number of small villages, and while there was no time to stop and talk with anyone, he greeted any of his people who came close enough to the small party. 

Less than a day’s ride from Neverwinter Castle, the effects of the war were almost imperceptible. Small, practical brick buildings lined the dirt streets and gave way to well-tended fields. The further away they moved from the castle, though, the clearer the impact became. There were fewer crops in the fields, he noticed, and of those few, most had withered considerably. He was still examining the ground on either side of his horse for some kind of reason for the decay when they came to the first of the attacked villages.

There were only remnants of buildings left; some had torn from their foundations; others were burned to a shell; although all of them were still somewhat recognizable. He could make out a large tavern along one of the main roads, as well as what he assumed to be houses, shops and even a large stable in and amongst the charred wooden beams and abandoned goods scattered across their path. In front of what had once been a grand building, where the roads connected and wrapped around a circle of benches, was now a circle of blackened brick. From this circle, Angus noticed, a series of charcoal footsteps ran in all directions. He stopped short, his hand tightening into a fist as he grasped the reins tightly while focusing on steadying his breath. His eyes screwed shut as the party was brought to a shuddering halt in the centre of the town square; Angus tried and failed to keep his composure. He could feel himself crying like he hadn’t let himself in months, huge heaving sobs wracked his small frame. He heard someone come to a stop beside him, and opened his eyes to see Captain Bane looking at him.

Wiping at his eyes with one sleeve, Angus looked down. “Sorry,” he whispered.

Bane shook his head. “I shouldn’t have taken us this way. When you’re ready to keep going, we can stay in the backwoods, keep our distance from the villages.”

 

Angus frowned. “No. I don’t want to pretend this isn’t here. I need to see it and I need to make sure none of these people have to deal with this again.” He took a few deep breaths, wiping his face again before pulling his shoulders back and urging his horse into a trot. “I’m ready to keep going now. I’m sorry for the delay.”

Passing through the affected villages didn’t get any easier, however, and although Captain Bane didn’t purposefully steer the group around them, he did make a point of setting up camp for the night out of eyeshot of any of the villages. Lying quietly in his bedroll while the men around him kept watch, Angus shivered and stared up at the stars. 

By the next morning, there was a kind of horrible mundanity in seeing the burned out wrecks they rode past. And although he still felt a pang of guilt in his chest whenever they neared one, Angus could numbly move past them. He kept quiet throughout the day, trying to think of what he had to look forward to in Vinland. He was going to see Davenport again, and he’d made sure to tuck the head cook’s sweetbread safely in his pack for the two of them to split when they reunited. Together, they were both going to organize the peace. He would learn everything he could about the treaty they’d created, befriend the king and queen, pool their resources and rebuild every last brick destroyed in the war.

Urging his horse forward, Angus rode onwards with unwavering determination. Throughout the journey, Angus found himself both the last one to dismount and the first to pack up again in the morning. The villages grew further and further apart, and as they passed through a small wood, Captain Bane stopped.

“We’re getting close to the line of battle,” he said, gesturing for Angus to cover himself in a thick woolen cloak and draw the hood down in front of his eyes. There were sounds of distant fighting in the air, and Angus kept a white-knuckled grip on the reins until they could no longer be heard. 

It was almost six days of travel before they made it from the battlefield to the towns on the outskirts of Vinland, but it did next to nothing for Angus’ nerves. He passed through, keeping a careful grip on the reins as he surveyed the damage he knew Davenport had ordered. Everything he saw was just as destroyed as their own villages had been, and it hurt to look at for too long. Eager as Angus was to keep up the breakneck pace they’d maintained throughout, he was grateful when Captain Bane suggested they stop early, and continue on to where another village was the next day.

Hours after, when camp was set up and the guards settled in to begin their watch, Angus dreamed he was in a village. He couldn’t tell which country it was in, as it looked to be a mix of everywhere they’d seen; it was somehow both Moldovian and Vinlandian. _The sun is close to setting, and the air is thick with the smell of smoke. Everywhere he walks, someone is calling out to him...he knows they will die without him, but he can’t find them in the crowd. Why is it so crowded? He can’t breathe-there’s too much smoke everyoneisrunningwhereisDavenport-_

Angus woke with a gasp to a hand shaking his shoulder. He worked to steady his breath, blinking up at the man towering above him in the dark of the night. Curling a hand against his chest, Angus could feel his heartbeat on his fingertips. He forced himself to breathe more slowly, and although it made his chest feel achingly tight, it forced his pulse to slow down. “Thank you,” Angus finally whispered. He felt his bedroll move as Captain Bane sat at his feet. 

“Don’t mention it,” he muttered. Without his glasses on his face, Angus could just make out the man’s outline in the light of the dying embers to his left. Neither of them spoke, but Angus found himself falling back to sleep quickly, and in the morning he felt rested like he hadn’t felt in days. They rode quickly, and the seventh day of their ride passed uneventfully. Then, as the sun dipped down over the horizon, the most extravagant castle that Angus had ever seen came into view. 

“We’ll stop here for the night,” Bane said as Angus held a hand up to stop him from dismounting.

“Captain, how far would you say we are from the castle?” he asked softly.

“We could reach it if we rode hard, but it would be past dark by then.”

Angus considered this before nudging his horse forward. “We’ll keep going, then. I’m sure their Majesties are eager to see us as soon as possible, and we’ll all sleep better in real beds.”

Captain Bane gave him an unreadable look, but nodded. “As you wish, your Highness.” He moved ahead at a gallop, and although Angus did his best to keep up with him, a gap of several meters grew between them. This proved to be helpful when they reached the town surrounding the castle, as Angus barely had time to tug back on the reins before he skidded to a sudden stop just behind Bane. He craned his neck to see why they had stopped, and found himself face to face with an old woman.

She held in one hand a lantern, and in the last light of the evening, it seemed to draw the colour from her face, giving her a frightening appearance. The woman stepped closer, and though Angus’ nerves were on edge he allowed her to approach him. “Your Highness?” she rasped, and as he pulled his hood down her face seemed to contort in quiet desperation. “You should not be here. Leave, now! Leave Vinland, little prince, run home to Moldovia!” Her voice raised as she spoke, until she had caught the attention of a pair of nearby guards who steered her sharply away from Angus.

He stayed still for a moment, until a hand at his elbow brought his attention back to his traveling party. “Sorry, did you say something?” he asked quietly.

“No, your Highness, but if you’re unharmed we ought to get you into the security of the castle, where you’re less likely to be accosted.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” he murmured, staring after the old woman as she was led away. “Why do you think she was so adamant I leave?”

Bane’s horse circled around, and one of the guards behind Angus caught up so that the two of them were flanking him. The guard shrugged her shoulders and responded, “The peace is as new to them as it is to us, your Highness, and the war has been long. There’s still mistrust on both sides.” She smiled. “Of course, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

Angus nodded, reassured, and led the group through the gates. They dismounted in a rush, and in the flurry of movement around him, Angus felt a surge of comfort; it felt so much like coming home from a camping adventure with Mookie. The familiarity made him all the more eager to find Davenport. He looked around for an idea of where to go next as his party was guided to the stables and armory to tend to their own needs. A servant, who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than the prince himself, gestured politely to a large set of heavy oak doors. He followed down the hall to the doors, turning to see Captain Bane refastening his cloak and preparing to leave.

Angus ran over to him. “Wait!” he said, making Bane pause. “I haven’t thanked you yet.”

Bane shook his head. “You don’t have to.”

“I do.” Angus held a hand up to the man as if to shake. “Thank you for taking me to see Davenport, and thank you for keeping me safe.”

Eyeing the hand being offered to him, Captain Bane stepped back. “Really, it was nothing.” He turned, one foot still in the threshold of the castle, before he called out. “Angus?”

“Yes?”

Bane stared at the young prince in silence for a moment, opening his mouth before closing it again and offering a small smile. “Take care of yourself.” He nodded once, gruffly, and stepped out into the darkening streets, leaving Angus alone to face the unknown ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we gooo


	4. Perfidy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a filthy filthy liar boy and for that I apologize. At least this means im doing chapter 4 on the 20th?

The room fell silent as Angus entered. Lords and ladies turned their heads, taking him in as thoroughly as he did them. Silence fell, and nobles shared a knowing look across the long tables at which they dined. In the centre of the room, a huge fire pit cast unsteady light on the beautiful tapestries adorning every wall. They were woven more delicately than anything Angus had ever seen, depicting long dead kings and queens in the gold and green of Vinland. Along the finely cut stone walls was a balcony from which the smaller children peeked their heads out between the bannisters, playing with dogs or talking amongst themselves. Angus could see the centre of the room clearly, but the lights were dimmed at the edges of the room to such an extent that he found himself entirely unable to see the corners. There was a clear path prepared through the hall for Angus to walk down, and at its end lay a higher, intricately carved table with only a few empty seats. At this table sat the Royal family.

King Edward and Queen Lydia were positioned on either side of the head of the table, grinning widely out of nearly identical faces. They held their heads high, carefully arranged curls falling to the napes of their necks. To Lydia’s left sat who Angus took to be their young ward, the Crown Prince Artemis, as he was dressed in the same finery as the king and queen. He was several years older than Angus, and the embroidered lion that represented Vinland shone on his doublet on the left breast, the same place Angus’ bore Moldovia’s wolf. He looked up from the table as Angus stepped forward, turning to his guardians as they stood. 

In response, the entire court stood in a wave of movement, starting with those closest to the king and queen and ending as the servants on the edges of the room bowed their heads. Angus had dropped to one knee out of respect, keeping his eyes low and focused on the stone of the floor below him, when suddenly the queen laughed.

“There’s no need for such formality, dear,” she called out in a saccharine voice. “Come up here and sit with us. We can have a chat while we wait for supper.”  
Angus walked towards her cautiously and was ushered into a chair on King Edward’s immediate right. He noted, with some second-hand embarrassment, that he’d mistakenly been sat beside the king, leaving Davenport no room, rather than one chair over where a prince should have been placed. He coughed politely to get the king’s attention. “Excuse me, your Majesty, but King Davenport-”

“Is on his way, I’m sure,” King Edward interrupted, waving his hand idly at Angus. “Apparently there was some small problem with his… wardrobe.”

Angus smiled. For all the importance that Davenport always placed on efficiency and responsibility, the one foible Davenport had always made himself was the care he took in the way he dressed. He’d been every Moldovian tailor’s worst nightmare. Even now Angus could easily imagine Davenport calmly but firmly explaining to some poor Vinlander that no, brocade and damask were not interchangeable, and yes, the braiding around the cuff was important. Settling in his chair, Angus resigned himself to a long meal alone with Vinland’s royal family. Focusing on the positive, he ran through the endless etiquette lessons he’d been given throughout his young life. This would be an opportunity to practice everything he’d learned.

Looking around for a conversation partner, Angus couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t recognize a single face in the crowd. He hadn’t expected to see any of the guards, as he was used to them eating in the separate quarters of the kitchens at home. Unnervingly, however, none of the advisors and diplomats who had followed Davenport out of Moldovia were present despite the fact that they clearly outranked several of the lords and ladies in attendance. In addition, there was a distinct lack of celebration throughout the hall. There were banners and goblets filled with wine, though not a single banner bore the Moldovian wolf, and the goblets were cheap pewter. Angus carefully bit back any comments he might have been thinking of making, reminding himself that they hadn’t been expecting them to arrive as they wouldn’t have without his determination to reach Davenport. The real festivities likely wouldn’t take place until the following week, or at the very least in a few days.

Angus sipped at the watered down wine, ready to make idle conversation exactly as he’d practiced. “When will the party take place?” He asked, gently tapping the side of his leg with his free hand.

The king and queen looked at each other for a moment, seeming to converse silently before Edward gestured to his sister and she turned to face Angus. “I’m not sure what you mean, darling,” Lydia drawled.

“The real celebration? For the signing of the treaty?” Angus looked from the one face to the other, trying to pick out any hint that they knew what he was talking about, that this was some kind of misguided joke the two were playing.

“This… is the celebration.” Edward frowned, leaning over until he was on eye level with Angus. “Is it not to your liking, Prince Angus?”

Angus blushed at his own rudeness, looking down at the table. “It’s perfectly fine, thank you.” He looked around the hall, desperate for something to focus on. His eyes settled on the musicians in the corner. “I’ve never, um, heard instruments like those before. They’re wonderful.”

The queen laughed alongside the king, who reached into a small pouch at his hip and tossed a few coins towards the musicians, who scrambled after them on their knees. “What an unusual little prince,” Lydia pondered, “An entire hall full of all the finery a kingdom can offer, and he chooses to compliment the entertainment. Don’t you think it’s strange, Artemis?”

She knocked her elbow into the side of the crown prince, who looked to his guardians. “Yes, your Majesty,” he replied blandly before returning his gaze to the wall behind Angus.

Edward gave Angus a small shrug, as if to suggest there was little he could do about his ward. “At any rate, there’s plenty more entertainment planned for tonight. In fact-”

Before he could finish, the doors to the kitchens swung open, and several servants brought out plates piled high with some of the most delicious foods Angus had ever smelled. Though he’d never tell it to her face, it could well have surpassed the head cook’s back home. He recognized virtually none of it, beyond some sort of large roast that was being placed in the centre of the table; Surrounding the unidentifiable creature were all sorts of delicate jellies, steaming bowls of strangely coloured rice and cheeses and more, until there was almost no room on the table for goblets. Angus curled his fingers underneath his legs, waiting as patiently as he could to start eating - after a week of choking back stiff hardtack dipped in bitter ale, Angus’ mouth was watering in anticipation. The moment the queen’s fork left her lips, he took a bite of the meat, and found his eyes fluttering closed. He swallowed quickly. “This is delicious. What is it?”

“Boar,” Edward said conversationally, sipping at his wine. “Have you never had it? We’re partial to the occasional hunt, though with the war being what it has been...well, we simply haven’t had the time.” He grinned at Angus. “Of course, that’s all about to change now, isn’t it?”

Angus nodded politely, and the conversation quieted as the four of them ate their fill. Servants flitted back and forth between the tables, refilling glasses and rushing back to the kitchens with empty platters. Carefully wiping at his mouth with his napkin, Angus looked up to see one of the guards whispering into Edward and Lydia’s ears. They both sat up straight, grinning keenly between themselves and looking over at Angus. Artemis, for his part, rolled his eyes upwards and kept his attention there. “I believe his Majesty is about to arrive,” Lydia said, and with a sudden jolt of guilt, Angus realized that they’d finished eating without Davenport. He looked up, craning his neck to watch the doors as Edward snapped his meticulously manicured fingers. The doors opened.

Angus felt the blood drain from his face as King Davenport and his advisor, the Duke of Hallwinter stepped through the door, flanked on either side by two armed men. Davenport’s uniform was gone - all of his carefully tailored clothes, clasps, and jewels had been taken - and in their place was roughly woven hemp. In places, his hair had been cut off, and his clothes hung off him far too loosely. He stood slightly hunched over, with his wrists and ankles shackled together. As the guards stepped to either side Angus could see that the Duke of Hallwinter was just as securely bound, the skin under each cuff rubbed red and blistering. Angus trembled, staring as the stalwart man he’d looked up to his whole life squinted weakly in the comparative harshness of the hall’s light to that of the dungeon below. He felt all the air leave his lungs in a strange, strangled noise, making Davenport turn to him, and - God, there’s blood on his lip, where his moustache should be, what did they-

“Angus,” he called out hoarsely, as if he hadn’t spoken in days. He froze for only a moment, taking in the scene in front of him and rushing forward as far as he could before the guards pulled him back. He pressed forward again, letting the cold iron cuffs dig into the skin of his wrists without taking his eyes off the boy in front of him even once. “Angus, listen to me, I need you to get out of here. Now!” 

Though Angus felt numb, he registered a hand encompass his forearm, vice-like. Looking up, he watched as Edward smiled. “We were just having dinner, Davenport. I’d offer you some, but I’ve been told you refused your breakfast again this morning, and we can’t reinforce that kind of negative behaviour.”

Lydia turned in her chair, leaning back. “It’s not as if we’re being discourteous. We’ve treated you as if you were any other prisoner. Here we are even letting you up to take part in the entertainment.” She paused, a delightfully cruel grin in her eye. “You should be grateful.”

Davenport remained silent, glaring at the king and queen with more fury than Angus had ever before seen on his face. The twins sighed, and Lydia looked towards one of the shadowy corners of the room. “Mimus, you’ve been keeping quiet all night. Where’s that sparkling wit you always grace us with?”

From the shadows, a catlike figure stepped forward, making his way down past the royal table to where the rest of the court sat. Despite all his fear, Angus couldn’t help but stare. The man appeared to be taller than he really was, with lean limbs and a long neck that gave him the illusion of height. His face was pinched, pallid skin hanging from what might have once been a beautiful face. He wore a thin tunic and leggings, both of which were sewn in spirited green and gold, and embellished with a number of small, tinkling bells. As he turned his head this way and that, the long ends of his hat brushed over what had to be false ears, as they pointed up past even his temples. Angus had never seen a jester before; Davenport had always preferred their court poet or the occasional troupe of traveling actors and as the strange man approached the chained king he could see why. The jester leered out at members of the court, as if he were choosing among freshly made desserts at a town fair. 

“Apologies, your Majesties,” he called out in a blithe, warbling voice. “I just thought you had more than enough fools in front of your table already,” he said, gesturing over to the foreign prisoners. He circled the hall, coming to a rest in front of Davenport. “Why, your Majesty of Moldovia,” he said, feigning shock as he bent into a bow that caused the tips of his hat to brush against the stone floor. Keeping his head in place, the strange jester cartwheeled his feet over his head so that he was almost nose to nose with Davenport when he came upright again. “You haven’t dressed for the occasion! Where’s your crown?” The jester made a show of looking for it around the hall, searching underneath King Edward’s feet and in the space between one of the guards ears, declaring it empty as he did before coming back to the prisoners. “Not to worry, I’ll give you mine. Hold him still, will you?”  
Angus watched with alarm as the guards took hold of Davenport’s arms as the jester in front of him removed the hat off his own head. He noted, with some amazement, that the ears underneath did appear to be real. As Davenport struggled, Angus noticed the jester slip his hand into the hat, only for a moment, before shoving it onto the humiliated king’s head. Removing it quickly, he revealed the cracked yolk of a rotted egg where he had pressed the hat against Davenport’s scalp. The audience around him jeered gleefully, and the jester barely had time to turn and face them before the Duke of Hallwinter’s hands were wrapped around his throat.

“Hey, your Majesties? Your Majes-” The jester, cut off as the duke squeezed tightly, tapped quickly on his arm as if ending a wrestling match to the great delight of the court around him. 

The queen laughed heartily before snapping her fingers, signalling for the guards to pull the two apart. “You know, Mimus, I don’t doubt that one of these days we’ll wake up to find that you’ve been murdered in the night.”

“Of course,” her brother added, as the jester dropped to the ground, “we would have to hang whoever finally managed it.”

Coughing and rubbing at his throat, he slowly stood. “I’m sure my corpse will be forever grateful.” He stepped back away from the twins and into the shadows again.

Davenport moved to stand in front of the duke, muttering something before turning to face Edward. The two locked eyes for a moment, unblinking, until a snap of Edward’s fingers had two of the guards shoving Davenport to his knees. Looking up at the royal table, he glared. “I didn’t expect you to be as childish as your fool,” he spat.

“Childish?” Edward stood, slowly making his way down and across the hall. “Is that any way to talk about the future king of Moldovia? We are, after all, the victors in this war.”

Davenport’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? You signed the treaty before you decided to imprison us, Vinland surrendered!”

Bringing a hand to his face in mock confusion, Edward turned to his sister. “You know, I don’t seem to remember any kind of treaty. Lydia?” At the shake of her head, he turned back to Davenport. “Well, there you have it.”

“There’s still a copy in my chest of drawers! It’s still in the cart we took!”

At this, one of the guards stepped forward and grinned. “We regret to inform their Majesties of an unfortunate accident what befell our, ah, guests’ cart, only it was made of straw and wood, and Barbara can be a little clumsy after a few too many drinks, so there was a case of setting the whole thing on fire. Barbara is very sorry.”

Davenport and the duke looked to each other grimly, as they were pulled back with a snap of Lydia’s fingers and led swiftly out of the room. Angus looked to Davenport as he was taken away, opening his mouth to say something- anything- to reassure his guardian of his safety as the doors slammed shut.

Edward moved back to the table, sighing as he sat before turning to where the jester leaned against a column. “Mimus, get over here. Earn your keep.”

Sighing, the jester- _Mimus,_ Angus reminded himself - moved towards them. He paused, noticing Angus staring, and gave him a menacing grin. “Are you going to try and choke me too, little wolf pup? I doubt your little hands could fit around my neck, but I think it would be funny to see you try.”

Angus shook his head. He was furious with the horrible jester, but he’d heard what the king had just said, and he doubted he’d be able to do anything lasting to the man anyways. “No, I’d much prefer to push you into the hearth. After all, it’s better to light a fire than to fight a liar.”

Mimus quirked a brow. “Better to be worse than a jester than to jest with the worst.”

Angus remembered learning these little sayings from Lucretia. She’d called it ‘word-fencing’, and on dreary days when none of them much wanted to be studying, they’d exchange them back and forth until one person paused, or repeated one. Sitting at the dining table of his worst enemy, this little bit of home came naturally to him. “Better to be quick to cut than to cut to the quick!”

“Better to enthrone a loser than lose a throne.” At this, one of the twins reached out and kicked at the jester, and he quickly added, “Better to be bedding well than to hear wedding bells.”

“Better to berate a treater than treat a betrayer.”

“Better to sing over wine than whine when you sing.”

Angus crossed his arms. “Better to have shining wit than be a whining-”

The jester clapped a hand to his mouth, gasping loudly. “Quite the sharp tongue for such a soft looking prince. Should we have it cut off and given to the armory, your Majesties?”  
“Not necessary, Mimus,” Lydia replied. “Although..” She turned to face her brother. “He is better at jesting than our jester is. Do you think…?”

He blinked at her in confusion before letting out a long laugh. “You know, just when I think your ideas are as good as they’ll ever be I hear the next one. Yes, it’s settled then.” They both turned to Angus. “You’ll be apprenticing under our jester. No one outside this room is to know you are the disgraced prince of Moldovia, and in exchange you’ll stay alive until you stop entertaining us.”

Both Angus and the jester looked to each other before protesting at the same time, which only served to make the king and queen insist all the more. Resigned, Mimus pulled Angus by the scruff of the neck away from the table and towards the corner he had started the night in. “Mess this up, kiddo,” he whispered as the court began to take their leave, “and you won’t make it to a public execution. Now, fuckin’ mush.” He shoved Angus, hard, and set off at a brisk pace. Angus did his best to keep up, but between the jester’s height advantage and the dark of the night, he was following the sound of the bells more than anything.

The two of them left the main castle, darting across the courtyard to an old, decrepit tower. The jester pushed the door open, allowing it to slam shut behind him. Angus attempted to follow when two uniformed figures blocked his path. “We’re to be taking your valuables now, that nice doublet included,” one growled out. “King’s orders.”

Angus felt his cheeks burning with shame and fury as he handed over everything he still owned, save his shirt. He shivered in the cold as the two guards dug through his pockets, choosing to go inside rather than stand in the fall chill and watch them bicker for the brooch he’d been given as a gift from June his last birthday. 

Climbing the stairs in a daze, he stopped as the top opened into a single room. In the dark, he could only make out a small window in one corner. Just below it, he faintly recognized the outline of the jester. There was no furniture, only a small chest and a paper screen on which the jester’s discarded costume hung. Looking closer, he saw that Mimus lay on a pile of straw he’d gathered up from the floor. On the opposite side of the room he’d scraped up a second, much smaller pile. Angus curled into himself on that one, tucking his knees up under his shirt and hugging his legs to his chest, when the jester spoke. 

“If you’re gonna cry, do it quietly. Cha’boy needs his hour of beauty sleep, and if you fuck that up for me too, I’ll throw you out the window.” 

Angus ignored him, pressing his face into the rough hay and screwing his eyes shut. He wouldn’t cry. Not in front of this horrible man. Not until he was safe at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally got taako in there holy christ that took a while

**Author's Note:**

> i'm troofs-and-goofs on tumblr if you wanna come tell me i'm late on whatever chapter this is


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